


truth, or, as intellectuals call it: the absence of lies

by justsaybee (rednoseredhair)



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: I mean, M/M, i suppose idk what to even tag for everyone is terrible, if you watch the show, u already kno this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 14:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11876667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednoseredhair/pseuds/justsaybee
Summary: "Well, it is your fault. You know what they say, lies are only words until you choose to believe them.""No, Frank. Literally no one has said that.""I just did."In which Mac tells many lies, and Dennis, ultimate bigger person, and better man, does not.Because he just doesn't say anything.





	truth, or, as intellectuals call it: the absence of lies

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!  
> this is set after season 12! that's all i have to say right now! thanks for clicking! u have good fingers!

"Mm, Dennis-" his shoulder was being shaken. His eyes opened, focusing in bleery, minimal light, on Mandy. She had her hair somewhat swept off her neck, held up by this large clip in the back of her head. It was soft, though, and all sorts of pieces were hanging out, tickling the end of Dennis' nose, his chin. He reached up, gently tucking some behind her ear. 

"Good morning," he greeted her softly, leaving his hand on her face, tapping her cheek with her thumb. She had flicked on the light on her bedside table. Her hair had this golden, halo effect, her eyelashes had bits of light dancing on the edges. He smiled in spite of himself. He tugged her down to himself, kissing her chastely, because, he did just wake up, and his mouth tasted stale.

"Hey, hey," she shook him a little more, shaking the sleep off his body. She twisted around, letting him wrap arms around her, propping himself up, cheek on her arm. "Look outside," she told him, kissing the top of his head. His arms nestled in the billowing of her warm, soft, knitted sweater. It was cream, and it smelled like cinnamon. 

The dawn was barely breaking outside, there was a hazy blue overcast over the landscape. He blinked, feeling an uncomfortable crust of sleep in his eye. "Wow," he squinted, trying to wake his eyes up a little more. "Is it snowing?" Snow blanketed over their property, the barren trees and the frozen over pond. Over Brian's toys, and the car. 

"It is," she giggled, settling down in his arms. She twisted, ending up partially on top of him, her smooth legs greeting his. He smiled. "Your first North Dakota snow-fall. I'm actually a little surprised it took a whole month."

"Snow in April?" He wheezed a little bit. "That's remarkable."

"Actually, the only months it hasn't snowed in North Dakota are July and August." She commented, and then nestled her head in between his chin and his shoulder. He inhaled, her hair smelling of smoke, but not city smoke, smoke from fires that weren't set on garbage, and vanilla, and something a little musky, something that smelled a little bit like him. He tapped his other hand on the nice flannel sheets she bought, letting one eye glance out the window again.

"Wow," he yawned, "when do the guys come to clear it out?"  


"Pardon?" Her accent sounded so cute, he had to kiss her on the head again.

"Yanow," he yawned, dragging her with him further into their pillows. "The guys," he yawned, "they come and they clear the sidewalks and the driveways and stuff." He glanced at the time, it was just past 5 a.m. He sniffed, smelling something sweet. Probably her pancakes in the oven, she insisted they were best that way. He wasn't inclined to disagree.

"You're so silly," she rolled over with a grin, digging her chin into his chest. "That's Daddy work, of course." She booped his nose. He blinked, feeling his smile slip off his face. "Why do you think I woke ya' up?"

"D-daddy, work?"  


"Snows so dang often here in North Dakota," she grinned, sitting up on her legs, her sweater falling enticingly off her shoulder, "my Daddy was up practically every day before the sun, clearin' the snow out so we can get out for the day." She smiled gently. "I've got breakfast cookin', come on. It's gonna be a long mornin'."  She stood up from the bed, pushing her hair behind her ear. He waved her off, a weak indication that he'd follow soon. She smiled, exhaled, and turned and left their bedroom.

He sat up hastily, looking at the wooden walls and the photos she had already managed to hung, put his feet on the floor. They were smiling, with their son, at the playground. At the aquarium. He felt the soft carpet, he wiggled his toes, and stared out of the window at the falling snow, smelling sweet air, and feeling the warmth of their home, of the fire Mandy probably already started, he can just barely hear it crackling, on his skin. He stared at the trees, the frozen bushes, the car, and the shovel, buried under _at least_ 8 inches of snow.

_**It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia** _

_**"Dennis Goes Home"** _

“So,” he drawled, smiling at Dee, wiping off his sweaty palms on itchy corduroys Mandy had bought him at a store that probably really wanted to be J. Crew and wasn’t. He thought if corduroys had one job, other than being tacky and hideous, it was to be not-itchy. He would burn them, he thought, as soon as he got back to his apartment. “I’m sure you have a lot,” he coughed awkwardly, keeping the forced smile on his face. Or perhaps it was stuck. He feared he didn’t know the difference, “a lot you want to ask me.”

He looked over at his sister who he hadn’t bothered to call until he was standing in the lobby of the Philadelphia airport. In his defense, there was little to no cell-phone reception in their town. He called once, calling Charlie but Mac answered. He explained the situation. Mac said okay. They had very little to say otherwise. 

Dee was mildly apathetic when she answered the phone that afternoon, driving over quickly, saying little when they saw each other. It was warmer, much warmer, in Philly. Dennis was grateful he was able to leave his sweater and coat in the back, with his duffle bag. The air conditioning was slightly too cold to be comfortable, making his hairs stand up on his arms. He turned it down, and looked to Dee expectantly, awaiting her inevitable questioning. 

“Do you think I can wear orange?”

“Of course, no, fatherhood wasn’t what I expect- what?!”

“I mean, with my skin tone, and everything.” Dee glanced down from the road to her arm, holding it out to Dennis. “So tan.” She laughed, replacing her hand on the wheel. “I dunno,” she shrugged, “I feel like the orange might just blend right in. BUT,” she held out a finger to him, as if this really were the story of the century, that he was on the edge of his seat “I was reading,” a miracle, in and of itself, “did you know, that orange is an uncommon color for auditioners? SO I was thinking-”

“Dee!” Dennis interrupted with annoyance. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t remember the taxi ride to the airport being this long. It was probably because Dee got lost because Dee was a stupid bitch. “I JUST got back from an entire MONTH of a BRAND new life in North Dakota. Are you REALLY not at all interested?”

Dee rolled her eyes, “if you wanted to talk about it you could’ve said you wanted to talk about it-”

“I don’t!”

“Then why do you want me to ask?”

“It’s the PRINCIPLE, Dee,”

“PRINCIPLE OF WHAT, DENNIS?”  
  
“OF… EVERYTHING!”

“Ugh,” Dee groaned, sinking back in her seat, “fine Dennis,” she flicked the ugly little dancing man on her dashboard. “Tell me. Tell me all about how she was a nag and it was cold and there was no where to drink and you couldn’t get a job and you didn’t make any friends. Really. I’m fascinated.”

Dennis sat huffily back in his seat, sinking down moodily while crossing his arms. He looked out the window, said a silent thank you to the forces that be that he recognized where they were, and said “fuck you.” 

* * *

Dennis told Dee to drop him off at his apartment. He shut the door without a thank you. She flipped him off, cranked up loud music, and drove away without another word. He was glad to be staring at the same, familiar building. His bones were aching in a way that he pretended they didn’t, signs he was aging. He wasn’t gonna deal with that shit, no way. He was just so ready to take a shower in his familiar apartment, then go the fuck to sleep. For maybe years.  

It was an odd moment, standing in front of his own door and having to knock. It looked the same, he just didn’t have a key to it. It was an idiot move, not taking his keys with him, just running out and grabbing a cab. He wondered if Mac had destroyed the interior of his car, the animal. He knocked, once, politely. 

No answer.

He knocked again...with more gusto.

No answer.

He huffed, irritated, and went for straight-up banging on the door, and yelling “MAC. CHRIST, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL YOU OPEN UP-”

“WHAT, WHAT, WHAT DO YOU WANT BECAUSE I’M NOT BUYING YOUR FUCKING-”

Oh. 

Mac blinked at him, and said “DENNIS?!” As to say Dennis were gone for years on end and grew himself some hair to his chin and had a sudden affinity for facial piercings. He glanced down at himself, to double check he still looked the same. 

“Hi, Mac.” He looked back to Mac, replying flatly.

He followed Mac into their apartment. It felt empty. It  _ was  _ empty, or missing a hell of a lot of stuff. Except the couch, which looked like the contents of a gym bag and a middle school locker were simultaneously dumped onto it. Dennis stared around, and then finally looked to Mac. Mac hadn’t left the house yet that day, clearly. His hair was soft, flopping partially into his eyelashes. Dennis squinted at it with irritation, wanting to shove it out of his eyes, wondering why Mac didn’t do so himself. 

"Hey, uh. Where is." Dennis took another glance around the apartment, as if he had really hallucinated the changes. "Everything."

"Here, man." Mac looked an unsolicited amount of confused at his question. Like, Mac really didn't know that everything he personally dumped in that hell-hole was missing.

"Really?" Dennis arched a plain eyebrow. He glanced behind him, where there used to be this super moronic hat he had bought for Mac during a trip to Mexico when they were sophomores in college. Mac wore it on Halloween relentlessly, for years. It was fucking embarrassing, and Dennis stopped buying Mac souvenirs. There was now just a drawing of Charlie and Mac in it's space. Clearly drawn by Charlie, because they were raccoons in their depictions. With trash cans. Oh wait, no, nevermind, the trash can was Frank. It was framed. Dennis cleared his throat because he knew that Mac would never know that was an indication of how dry it had become.

"Oh!" Mac had a moment of recognition on his face. "Oh, that junk? I got rid of it." Dennis tried to not have a reaction, and it was involving a lot of blinking. He, frankly, wasn't sure if he cared or not that that walking smoothie of grease and protein powder had gotten rid of everything.

"You said you hated it, anyway," Yes, Mac, but how did he not know that Dennis often said he hated things he didn't, "and there was this thing, like, two weeks ago? Frank suggested we open this pawn shop. Because we were watching that show about the pawn shop. So we did, and we just put it on the quad of Penn, with this old table Dee found on the side of the road. Those hipster kids really will buy anything. Everything was going okay until we got arrested and I didn’t know why but it turns out it was all this elaborate drug-" Holy shit, the boy could ramble. Dennis stared at him with some semblance of pity. How he could live life with such little self awareness, to not be aware he was talking so long Dennis could feel himself wrinkling, was entirely beyond him. Dennis, in truth, did hate most of the knick-knacks Mac painstakingly tracked down. They were tacky, and stupid, and they were mostly in their old place because Dennis couldn't be bothered to get rid of them.

They were mostly replaced with emptiness now. There were a few bibles on the shelves, some weird fitness magazines. What looked like...playbills? Some alcohol.

The DVDs were gone. In it’s place, a very small desk. Mac’s computer was on top of it.

“So, you got rid of the DVD’s?” Dennis cleared his throat again. It felt like Satan himself had wedged his hand down there to grab it, tightening relentlessly. He crossed the room in a manner he considered to be nonchalant, glancing at the mirror that replaced the painting on the opposite. It was decorative, all sorts of panels. Gaudy, in Dennis’ opinion. 

“I got a Netflix and a hewluh.”

“A what now?”

“A Netflix! It’s this online web thing where they put the ENTIRE movies and most of television, and-”

“I KNOW,” Dennis grit his teeth, forcibly lowering his tone, “what a Netflix is.”

He looked up at Mac, his confused expression. “Then why’d you ask?”  
  
He shut his eyes slowly, “I was asking what the fuck a hewluh is, Mac.” 

“Oh. Also an online thing. It has the REST of the television.”

‘Do you, by chance, means Hulu? Spelled H-U-L-U.”

“Yeah!” Mac’s enthusiasm returned. “But I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced hew-luh.”  
  
“Why,” he drawled, “would it be pronounced hewluh?”  
  
“Because, the second u is the short u.”

“...I’m not even gonna pretend I know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“So like, continuum, right?” Mac nodded as if that made his argument literally even the slightest bit clearer. “The second u changes the sound to an ‘uh’ sound, which is true of all words, except vacuum, which is different because it has a v-”

“You know what,” Dennis held his hands out, distancing himself from the entire thing. “Nevermind. How are you," he clicked his tongue, walking over and setting down his bag on the chair by the table. Mac's eyebrows raised just a fraction, maybe surprise. "Affording this, frankly, Mac?"

Mac furrowed his eyebrows. "Did you not listen? I just told you, Fran-"

"Yes, no." Dennis leaned down on the chair, hands gripping it tightly, "I heard you."

"You okay, man?" Mac was wringing his hands in front of him. "Yo, here, ah, sorry-" He looked at the gym bag on the couch, grabbing the things around it and shoving them inside. "You can sit here," he heaved the bag on his shoulder, gesturing to the now empty couch. "You just got off a flight, I forgot." Dennis didn't know what to think, and so he just looked up at Mac. Mac was having a hard time reading his expression, he could tell. That was probably because Dennis hadn't took it upon himself to make any sort of expression in particular. "Do you want to lay down for a little while" He dumped the bag on the floor.

Dennis rolled his shoulders back. "Yeah," he jerked up a shoulder, cracking his neck, "maybe that's for the best. Probably gonna be a, uh," a wolfish grin, finally, feeling foreign and forced and like it didn't at all belong on his face, "a crazy night."

"Oh?" Mac's eyebrows raised again. "Do you have plans?"

"Well, no," he squinted at him, "I just figured, you know." He gestured awkwardly between them, as if that would make the words easier to come up with. "It's us, you know? Paddy's! Something's, you know," why did Mac look like he didn't, "bound to happen."

"Oh, yea!" Mac's smile was starting to creep up, and hopefully, with it, the temperature in the room. Dennis could really do without the chill in his shoulders, awkward tension stretching itself across his muscles. "Except, no." Dennis tried his absolute hardest not to let his face fall. "Well, see, things have." Mac shrugged, needing to do something with his body, gesturing as weirdly as he normally did. "Calm isn't the right word. But we have someone new on staff, and uh-"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Dennis held his hands up to stop him. "You've  _ hired  _ somebody?" A nod from Mac. "And they haven't quit?"

“Not yet. Dee is mostly handling the tending now, and someone had to do the Charlie work, I knew I wasn't gonna do i-"

"Where's Charlie?"

"Here."

Dennis looked behind him, highly doubtful he had missed even Charlie's pathetically tiny body in the room when he walked in.

“I mean, WHERE is he?”

“Oh, uh.” Mac scratched his head, “maybe his place? He's at Dee’s kind of a lot right now, but that's mostly because-”

“Why,” Dennis interrupted him, feeling his hands tense so badly in front of him it was as if he was choking an invisible person, “is Charlie not doing Charlie work, right now.” His teeth were gritted.

"Oh!” A boyish grin on Mac’s face as realization dawned on, looking the exact same the idiot sunrise always did. “He broke his arm." All wide-eyes and smiles as he made that announcement. Dennis felt a familiar spout of pity. Not over Charlie, god knew he deserved it, but over the fact Mac really did have brain functioning of a hamster on ecstasy.

"Good God, doing what?"

"It had to do with the soap, mostly. Charlie worked at the store in the mall that sells soap that looks like candy and then Dee wanted free soap and so that’s when we figured out Charlie was eating the soap, which, like, nasty, bro. And then yeah, we all had mall jobs because Frank had us doing this, and then there was a talent show and these people were- it was a lot. Mostly the soap, though,” He nodded thoughtfully, “those slippery bastards."

Dennis hummed. He couldn't tell you, honestly, what he had truly expected they had been doing. It's not as if he truly believed they were sitting around, staring at walls, waiting for him to get back. But he rather fancied himself like a glue, holding the entire operation together. To hear it had remained as dysfunctionally functional and busy as it was before he left was just…unsettling.

"You know what, I think I will take that lie down-" he was walking towards Mac, feeling like it was the first time he ever had, but Mac held up his hands defensively to stop him.

"Whoa, whoa" His hands stopped just short of Dennis's skin. "Nap here" he gestured to the couch.

"What," Dennis almost laughed "did you get rid of my bed, too?"

"What?" Mac's face wrinkled up. "No," he scoffed. "But this is a nice couch."

"It's an atrocity on a frame, and so lumpy it gives that fat chick who works at the pizza place a run for her money. Not that she  _ runs  _ anywhere."

"It's, like, brand new."

"Oh? Yea? Brand new: top of the line from the bargain bin, eh? Or, what, did you actually pull this, _brand new_ , out of a dumpster?" Mac’s nose wrinkled, looking in between Dennis and the horrendous leather monster they had the audacity to masquerade around as a couch. 

"What the fuck is your problem, man?"

"Well, let's see, Mac-" he was holding out his hands aggressively, wanting to shove Mac, if he could accomplish that without actually touching him, "I'm tired, I've been replaced at my job, my life is a mess, my-" he paused, not even knowing what to call Mac, "YOU have gotten rid of all of my possessions, and now I'm not even allowed to nap in my own bed?!"

"It's not yours, though," he replied quietly, defensively, after a moment, staring at the floor.

Dennis paused. He didn’t want to think he was giving him a  second to take it back, but spades were inevitably spades. "Excuse me?"

"It isn't yours.” Dennis hated the goddamn mumbling so much he wanted to smack Mac in the mouth just for that. “You don't pay rent, here, you didn't pick out anything in the apartment," well THAT much is obvious. Maybe then if he had it wouldn’t look like the love nest of a deranged 15 year old body-builder and a 67 year old God-fearing woman whose parents are probably cousins. "And you don'-"

"Goddamnit, Mac." Dennis felt his hands fly in the air with frustration of their own volition. He paced in a small, tense circle, around himself. "CAN YOU FUCKING LOOK AT SOMEONE WHEN YOU'RE TALKING TO THEM?!" 

“Well, I'm SORRY, Dennis, but if you were less-”

“I mean, for fucking Christ’s sakes, how old are you?!”

“Thirt-”

“I KNOW, MAC” Dennis stumbled backwards, almost surprised at the volume of his voice. He took a deep breath. “I know,” he repeated, correcting his volume, but not managing to diminish the growl in his voice, “how old you are, Mac.”

Mac, with all the tact and grace he so often displayed in social settings, said “okay.” 

“Now, can I-” Dennis made to move past Mac again. He defensively flung his arms out over the door. 

“Dude,” Mac countered defensively, “no, you can’t go in there.”

“What the hell did you do to it?” Dennis snorted, but taking a step back nonetheless.

“Well, nothing.”

“Nothing?” 

Mac exhaled slowly, annoyance causing his eyes to squint up just a little bit. He, for the first time all day, first time in weeks, shoved Dennis backwards. “Sit down, asshole.” He cracked his hands as he walked away, leaving Dennis few options but to sit on the couch. He could make another break for the door, but likely that would just land him getting tackled by Mac.

“Do you want a beer, man?”

“Do you have anything that’s not trash?” Dennis took off a shoe, running his thumbs in the grooves of his aching feet.

He heard the fridge door clang shut. Mac was giving him an irritated, flat, look.

“What?” Dennis asked, massaging the space in between his toes through his sock.

“Since when do you give a fuck what beer it is?” He put two bottles on the table, doing some sort of annoying hand gesture over them, suggesting Dennis approve the choices. 

“I mean,” Dennis sat forward on the couch, “I’ve always had a more-”

A thump came from the other room. Dennis looked to the door, and then at Mac, who was looking at him. And then, before saying anything else, he was scrambling towards the door.

“DUDE,” Mac shouted, moving perhaps the quickest Dennis had seen him move, “NO, NO, NO-” he just narrowly pressed his back into the door before Dennis got to the handle, defensively splaying himself out over it. 

“You’ve got someone in there, haven’t you?” Dennis tried not to sneer, but the smirk on his face felt lifted, nasty. He narrowed his eyes at him. Mac’s eyes were firmly on the ground. Dennis felt the laugh bubbling up before he even thought about laughing. 

Mac looked up at him, furious face making it all the more funny. Dennis stepped back, laughing again.

“Pretty defensive there, Mac” his finger pointed airily at Mac’s dramatic pose over the door, “they must be a pretty big slu-” 

“HE’S NOT,” Mac slammed his hands against the door, “goddamnit, Dennis.” His hands balled up in front of him, “you know what?!” And finally, Mac’s eyes were on his. “I don’t need this.” He stared him down. Dennis felt the smirk freeze on his face. “Get out.” 

“I beg your pard-”

“GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT,” Mac practically roared, and Dennis’ hands, instinctively, came up, to Mac, to grab for him. He stopped just short of Mac’s shoulders, his neck, pausing just in front of him. Dennis watched Mac’s eyes soften, flick between Dennis’ hands, suddenly unsure, nervous. When Mac’s eyes came back to his face, he dropped his hands, wiping them callously on his jeans.

“Fine, then, if that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“Fine.” Dennis turned around then, quickly, feeling his temples heat up, flush. He touched his ears, how hot they were, inevitably bright red. His breathing quickened, slightly, and suddenly there was nothing more that he wanted to be the fuck out of thei-  _ Mac’s _ apartment. He grabbed the bag he dropped on the chair, and was throwing the door open when Mac spoke.

“Dennis,” Mac called out, and, with his back turned to Mac, Dennis smiled. “Wait.” He knew it. He knew Mac would never be able to- “I have something that’s yours.”

Dennis looked over his shoulder. “Yea?”  
  
Mac was already gone, disappeared into the bedroom. Dennis shut his eyes, and pretended he didn’t hear anyone else’s voice in that bedroom. The walls were thinner than he remembered them being. He supposed he never had any sort of practical application with them. It’s not like Mac ever had guests in his room. 

Mac reappeared, shutting the door behind carefully, holding out a bulky frame towards Dennis.

It was his degree from Penn. Or, the duplicate, rather.

Dennis took it from him, running his hand over the expensive dark wood around the degree. “Are you fucking serious.” He didn’t move his face, just flicked his eyes up to see Mac.

“What?”

“Why would you think I’d want this.” His hands gripped the edges. “Is it some kind of joke?”

“I don’t know what you’r-”  
  
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” This twisted, sinister smile was stretching out Dennis’ features before he could stop it. “Let’s all,” he looked around at an invisible audience, “play that game everyone loves,” he sniggered to himself, looking back up at Mac, “the one where we all REMIND Dennis of EVERYTHING he’s wasted, EVERYTHING he’s FAILED AT, AND WE CAN ALL HAVE A GOOD, HEARTY, LAUGH.” And before he knew what he’s doing, he threw the frame to the ground.

It shattered. It was satisfying. 

But the silence that then grew between the two of them was deafening. Dennis could almost make a rhythm to go along with the ringing in his ears. 

“I know it doesn't matter to you.” Mac stared at the shattered frame. “But that took two days. I had to send the form, and all of that. Do you know where people buy stamps? I didn’t.” He squints, looking up at the ceiling, not at all at Dennis, “And then they insisted someone come pick it up. And Dee was being a complete bitch about her car, so I took the bus. It took an hour and a half. Then I waited in line, and had this really unpleasant conversation with a very nasty woman, and then Dee had to come anyway because I’m not related to you. I waited there another 3 hours. And then I paid the fee, and they gave it to me.” He clicked his tongue, and Dennis thought, for a moment, that this pointless, boring story, was over.

“And then I spent forty dollars to frame it.” Mac continued, and Dennis groaned “And I took the time to hang it in our-your, whatever. In the room.” 

A deep breath. And Mac was, finally, looking at him. “And I did all of that because I thought it would be important to you.” 

“Well,” Dennis scoffed, adjusting the bag on his shoulder, “I never ASKED you to-”

“Yeah, no, I know. It was my mistake,” Mac sounded incredibly unattached as he stepped backwards. Apathetic, as he shrugged, continuing to watch Dennis. “Thinking anything would ever be really important to you.” The door shut in front of Dennis’ face before he could even open his mouth. 

He rolled his eyes. The dramatics. “MAC,” He banged on the door, fist satisfyingly smashing into the wood, “GODDAMNIT, MAC, AT LEAST GET ME MY SHOE. THERE’S GLASS EVERYWHERE OUT HERE.”

* * *

Dennis was grumbling, hauling his bag out of the building and out of the street. “Unbelievable, fucking ungrateful-” and then, he, very narrowly, was missed by an oblong object that seemed to come from absolutely nowhere. It clanged noisily on the pavement. The first thing Dennis did was look up, screaming expletives, in just enough time to hear a window click shut.

“FUCKING CHRIST,” he rolled his shoulders back, “HAS EVERYONE LOST THEIR GODDAMNED MINDS.” He turned around, curiously, to see what someone had decided they needed to get rid of so badly that they chucked it out of a window.

It was the RPG, bent up from the fall.

Dennis’s head snapped back towards to the window, “SON OF A-”

* * *

When he walks into his bar, he was greeted by several cats suspended from strings in the ceiling.

Charlie, holding three different cats, hold was a generous word, they were more draped over his cast, slipped backward with surprise at the slam of the door. There was so much meowing. Dennis looked around incredulously. The cats were hanging from odd little slings.

“What, in God’s name,” Dennis asked, reaching for the one closest to him, pulling it out of the sling, “are you doing!?” The cat seemed grateful to be out of that swinging hell.

“DENNIS!?” Charlie shouted from the floor, flailing, struggling to keep a hold on the cats and push himself up. 

The cat in Dennis’ arms was making it apparent he had claws and Dennis, gracefully, dumped it on the ground. “In the flesh,” he winced, inspecting the scratch marks in his arm. “Maybe not for long,” he cast a wary glance around at the cats. 

“What are you,” awkward flailing, “doing here, man?” 

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here,” how there was already cat hair on his jeans, Dennis had no idea. He wiped at it with an annoyed glare to the tabby laying by his foot, “this is my bar.” He walked to the counter to pour himself a glass of anything. He was too sober for this. He should have taken the beers from Mac’s table. 

“I mean,” Charlie had given up, opening his arms to the best of his ability, freeing the cats. One sat, promptly, on his chest. “What about North Dakota? Brian Jr.?”

Dennis took a shot. 

“What happened to your fucking arm,” he ignored the question as the whiskey burned his throat. He hadn’t had hard liquor in weeks. He wasn’t going to cough, goddamnit. 

“Tap dancers, or the soap. Not sure. Details got fuzzy.” 

“Here it is, I got the-” And there he was, arguably amongst Dennis’ least favorite people on the planet, Frank. He waddled around the corner, holding up an expensive looking video camera. “Holy hell,” Dennis had imagined such a reaction, as he hadn’t given any sort of indication of his retur- “who ruined my shot?” 

Charlie pointed an accusatory finger towards Dennis.

Dennis poured himself another shot. 

“What in the shit are you doing here?” 

“Hello to you, too, Frank.” Dennis took the shot. He tapped himself in the chest as he felt the liquor burn up the same path. “Anyone care to explain why my bar is filled with cats?”

“ _Your bar?_ ” Frank asked incredulously as Charlie said

“We’re up to our ears in ‘em.”

One was sitting on the counter, giving Dennis a disinterested look. “I can see that,” he replied, ignoring Frank in general.

“We’re gonna get rid of ‘em,” Frank said gruffly, putting down the camera on the counter. Dennis stared at it. It was modern. There was remnants of tape stuck to the side, but no tape the way their other one had. He wondered if Charlie had gotten rid of it. 

“Some of them.” Charlie corrected.

Frank gave him a somewhat flat look.

Charlie sighed with annoyance, “I KNOW they’re loud, Frank.” He took a swig of a beer sitting on the counter, sitting on the stool next to it with a little huff, “if we still had the goddamned kitten mittens, none of this would be a proble-”

“When’s our next visit from the health inspector?” Dennis asked, nose twitching up at the unidentifiable liquid on the floor by Charlie’s feet.

“Last week,” Charlie looked at him as if this were entirely obvious. He exchanged a look with Frank, amusement at Dennis’ apparently stupid question, looking like Dennis was clearly the idiot in that room.  

“Yes,” Dee appeared, pushing through the door of the bar. She was wearing this frankly horrendous knitted sweater, cats and flowers in the pattern. She seemed to have a completely identical one hanging over her arm, her phone pressed into her ear. Her hair was swept off her neck, into a clip on the back of her head, messy but looking like she planned it that way. “See you soon. Yes, goodbye.” As soon as she hung up, her fake smile fell, and she cast an annoyed glance around the room. “God, I’d love to stab that bitch.” She threw the other sweater to Charlie.

“Is she gonna pay the fee?” Frank asked, opening the little tray that had fruit in it.

“Well, yea-” Dee was walking around the counter.

“Then no stabbing until tomorrow.” Dee had decided Dennis was in her way, and she hip-checked him with no other greeting, so she could access the vodka. He moodily grabbed the bottle of whiskey and his glass, walking back around the counter. 

“Alright,” Frank downed the rest of his beer, then slammed the glass on the counter. He looked at Charlie, “let’s get this shot before sun-down.”

“Right.’ Charlie nodded, finishing his own. “Mr. Pickles,” he gave the otherwise unacknowledged cat on the counter a careful look, “he changes...in the moonlight.” Frank responded with a solemn nod.

Dennis wanted to slam his face into the counter.   

* * *

“Move,” Dennis said to Dee, grabbing her arm.

“What?!” She almost spilled vodka all over the counter. She offered a fake smile to the less-homeless-looking-than-usual man sitting in front of her at the bar. And then shoved him, ungracefully, the glass she had poured for him.

“I’m tending tonight,” he didn’t bother to look at her as he shoved her behind him, grabbing for the rag to wipe an non-existent spot on the counter.

“I’ve got it, Denni-” she stopped herself, reaching past him to the fridge of beer. “You know what, I have no idea why I’m arguing about not having to do anything,” she snorted, grabbing a beer. She cracked open the top, taking a swig. “Suit yourself, Noodle Head.” 

“My head,” he threatened, throwing the rag on the counter, “does  _ not  _ look like noodles.” He smiled at the almost-hobo in front of him, nodding for him to agree with him. The man spit, straight into the ash tray they had on the counter. 

“Eh,” Frank commented from his spot a little ways down the bar, “I don’t know, I see it.”

“What?!” Dennis looked up incredulously at him, “no. No!” He looked at Dee, who promptly looked away. “Carefully cultivated curls is what my head looks like, enough of this noodle talk.”

“Who made noodles?” Charlie asked.

“No one,” Frank replied, downing his cup.

“Are, are you sure?” Charlie scratched his beard, “because I coulda sworn someone-”

The door slammed open. Mac ceremoniously walked through, wearing a smug smile and stupid t-shirt that Dennis hadn’t seen before. He decided, promptly, that he didn’t care, and began to organize the liquors behind him. Mac threw what looked like the tail of a raccoon at Charlie. Charlie ducked. The raccoon tail hit the floor.

“What the hell, man?” Mac asked, huffily crossing the floor to pick it up.

“I’m not a good catcher,” Charlie replied defensively, “I don’t know why everyone always forgets that.” 

“I got it, I got it.” Mac rolled his eyes. He walked over to where Frank, and Charlie were sitting. Dee stood behind the counter across from them. “Are you not gonna ask why I have this?” He asked Dee curiously, sitting it on the counter as he took a seat.

“No,” Dee took a sip of her drink. “Because I don’t care.” Dennis had to marvel at how their sanitation standards had managed to sink so low, that they were okay with animal parts on their counters. He waited, patiently, for someone else to bring it up. It’s not like he was ignoring Mac, that was hardly mature. He was just busy, that was all.

“Where are the cats?” Mac asked, folding his hands in front of him. 

“Cat room.”

“Ah,” Mac gestured to Dee that he’d like a beer. Dennis knew this because he spoke perfect Mac. What he was wondering, was when Dee learned it, because she leaned under the counter, and grabbed one for him. “Thanks.” And since when did he thank anyone for literally anything?

“I think we made 200 dollars,” Charlie added cheerfully, “and we have 6 more cats.”

“How is that possible,” Dee furrowed her eyebrows, “if we’re selling the cats?”

“Well, we’re not selling the cats,” Charlie corrected, holding his hands out, as if this were a big, offensive statement to make. He looked around, like people cared about him or his stupid fucking cats, Dennis thought. WHY hadn’t anyone acknowledged him? HE JUST GOT BACK.

“It’s an adoption fee, Deandra.” Frank winked.

“In the cat business,” Charlie had put on this very strange attitude. He talked like cats were a drug, and he had been in the industry for years, “we have what is known Cat Cohesion. They stick together,” he brought his hands together in a demonstrative manner, “and so if you get one cat-”

“Oh, goddamnit, Mac,” Dennis couldn’t take it any longer, storming down the bar, “take that tail off of the goddamn counter, that’s disgusting. What, were you raised in a barn?!”

“WHY are you yelling at me, bro?!” Mac yelled back, picking up the tail and holding it out towards Dennis, “this is CHARLIE’S.” 

“I mean,” Charlie shrugged, “it is mine, but-”

“But what is it doing on the counter, regardless? We have some goddamned sanitation in here.”

“Since when,” Dee joined in with a smirk, “do you give a shit about cleanliness?” She laughed into her drink, raising her eyebrows over the can at Dennis.

“Don’t be a bitch, Dee. There are simple requirements I think we should meet-”

“Yeah, well, we need the tail though, so where do you want to put it?”

“And why did you just start yelling at me?!”

“Well, not the counter, where people drink, that’s for damn sure-”

“The ground, just wanna put it on the ground?!”

“How about, oh, I don’t know- OUTSIDE!?” 

“WE’RE TRYING TO UNITE A COMMON ENEMY HERE-,”

“IT’S LIKE HE’S GOT NO RESPECT FOR COMMUNITY,”

“WHAT COMMON ENEMY, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT-” 

“WELL, IT’S NOT LIKE YOU’RE SOME HERO-”

“THE CATS WON’T JUST COME TOGETHER ON THEIR OWN,”

“WHY WOULD YOU NEED THEM TO COME TOGETHER AT ALL?”

“WELL, WHAT CONTRIBUTION HAVE YOU HAD, DEE?!”

“OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU LISTENED AT ALL?”

“I’VE BEEN LISTENING BUT IT’S COMPLETE BULLSHIT.”

“THEY WON’T, THEY WON’T-”

“MAC, YOU’VE BEEN OUT ALL DAMN DAY.”

“CATS DON’T BELONG IN BARS.”

“DENNIS. UNLESS THEY HAVE SOMETHING TO FIGHT AGAINST.” 

A shatter of a glass bottle interrupted the screaming over each other. Dennis wasn’t even sure what they were arguing about. “GODDAMNIT,” Frank swore, hopping off his stool.

Dennis sighed deeply, running a hand along his face. “Frank’s right you guys.” He agreed solemnly, nodding to himself as he set his hands on the counter. “Senselessly yelling at each other won’t get us anywhere, it hasn’t...ever, really.”

“What,” Frank stopped looking at the bottle and looked up at Dennis.

“What do you mean ‘what?’” Dennis wrinkled his nose.

“What in the hell are ya’ talking about.” Frank replied, holding his hands out. He gestured downwards. “I swore because I dropped my beer, fucking idiot.”

Dennis sighed again, “of course you did.” 

* * *

Dennis was irritated, feeling a headache thump in his forehead. There was music playing, and he hated when they suddenly turned into a music bar. It was just so goddamned annoying, because it's not as if anyone had the same music tastes and so they were bound to alienate somebody, and why couldn't they sit and wallow in their own misery in silence like normal Americans? 

They had some college kid cleaning the bathrooms. Dennis was introduced, but he hated the kid on sight. Fucking annoying little bastard with a little bit of acne and too much weight for his height and scruffy orange hair and a beard. Apparently, according to Frank, the job got a lot less gross after Charlie was out of work. Charlie was just making the entire thing more gross than it needed to be, and the cats were doing wonders for the rat problem. Apparently the cat room was covered in shit, though. And Dennis still had no idea what the fuck, or where the fuck, the cat room was. 

The door opened, blasting the room with chilly April air. He looked up from polishing glasses.

"Whoa," Mac was moving quickly across the room, doing this dumbass speed walk thing he probably didn't even realize looked ridiculous. "Hey," he grabbed the guy before he made two steps into the room, "what are you doing here?"

"I was thinking about taking piano lessons," Dee stated randomly to her brother, clicking her tongue. 

"You've got the hands for it," He glanced down at her long fingers, wide spaces, "goddamned spider webs." He shuddered. "Nasty."

"I can teach you," Charlie offered kindly.

"You can't play piano." Dennis replied irritably.

"Maybe not, but I can speak it-" he pointed at Dennis with a 'gotcha!' Kind of look.

"No, that doesn't make any sense because no one _speaks_ piano-" Dennis, out of morbid curiosity, of course, glanced at Mac. The man, by some miracle, was a little bit shorter than him. Not Charlie height, but shorter. Mac had his thumb on his jaw, and he kissed him calmly, gently. It lingered longer than strictly necessary, in Dennis' opinion.

Then he shoved him back out the door of the bar.

Dennis glanced at Dee "by the way," he interrupted whatever Charlie's counter argument was that he hadn't bothered to listen to, "I'm sleeping at yours tonight."

"Oh, goddamnit." Dee shoved her face into her hands. 

* * *

“I just.” He crossed his hands in front of him, feeling the sweat under his fingertips. The entire thing made him feel incredibly juvenile, sharing a bed with his sister. He felt like they might as well be wearing rocket p.j.s, waiting for Christmas morning. His neck was scratching because of this stupid little decorative pillow she bought. “I know, we’re alI adults. I know that. I was just merely expecting that things would be a little-”

A loud snore from Dee’s side of the bed, her face shoved into the pillow, arm flung haphazardly above her head. 

“I know you’re not asleep, Dee.”

No response.

He blinked.

“No one falls asleep in forty seconds flat.”

Another, more timid, snore.

“Your eyelids are twitching.”

A weird, sleepy noise. Half snore, half grunt. All fake. 

“You really are the worst actress on the planet, I mean really, how did you even begin to consider this a believable mov-.” 

**Author's Note:**

> a/n  
> hello it is me i am new here pls be my friend i am very nervous to do all things but my mom and dog have stopped listening to me when i ramble about this show... thank u for reading i made a tumbler and it is the same name that is me hi
> 
> rating will likely change whooooops


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